Finals

The best word to describe finals is 'stressful.' They account for a large part of your grade, and they cover everything you have learned in that class. There is so much to remember and so much to study. You flip frantically through review packets and highlight parts of your notes that you know you will have a hard time recalling come test time. And the moment the actual test is handed out, your stomach is in knots. Many times, after reading the first question, your heart plummets. You have no idea what the answer is. But hopefully, you regain your composure and enter the test-taking mode. And perhaps you even do well enough to bring your grade up a whole percentage. Or, it could go down. Either way, the stress building up the test is immense and often times overwhelming.

Driving in the Snow

I pulled out of the driveway with confidence, shrugging as I saw the snow on the ground. It was hardly an inch, so I figured it wouldn't have any effect on my driving. Apparently, I was wrong. As I went to round a curve, the wheels of my dented maroon minivan skidded in the opposite direction. Letting out a shriek, I yanked the wheel the other way, pumping the gas pedal in an attempt to bring the car to a halt. The van slid to a stop, the snow crunching underneath the wheels. Nervously laughing, I began again, slower this time. I made it at least two more miles before something similar happened. I was pressing the gas pedal, when suddenly, the wheels of the van jerked to the side, sending me straight towards a mailbox. I snapped the vehicle back into place, my fingers tightening on the wheel. Needless to say, the rest of the ride home my speed was under 20 miles per hour.

Domain

The domain of my papers for CIS English is the Hispanic community. I have taken Spanish classes for 5 years; the culture and language fascinate me. I choose to do my personal narrative on a mission trip I took to Guatemala two summers ago, which gave me a first hand experience with a Hispanic culture. My partner and I did our trend paper on the American media creating increasingly negative attitudes toward Mexican Americans. For our ethnography, we studied the workers at a Spanish cafe and market, El Burrito Mercado. While our first experience there was somewhat rocky and nerve-wracking, we found by the end that El Burrito Mercado contains some outstanding staff. Finally, for my film critique, I chose to watch the movie From Prada to Nada, directed by Angel Garcia. The film is about two wealthy Mexican sisters in LA who are forced to leave their life of riches after their father dies. It had some valuable lessons, like taking pride in one's family, but it was much too fake to be believable. All of these papers allowed me to study the Hispanic culture, and in some instances, I was able to see how Mexican Americans relate with other American citizens, which was eye-opening and quite interesting.

Studying

All students hopefully have done this. They flip back through their leagues of notes, scanning each filled line, praying that the numbers or letters will ingrain themselves in their brains. The nervous anxiety of test-taking catches up to some, and they clutch at their notebooks until the moment the test begins. Others confidently stuff their notes away long before the test is handed out, knowing that they have the material down. Studying is a part of the schooling process, whether for quizzes, chapter tests, finals, or the ACT. Some people are blessed with the ability to study well and maintain everything they learn. Others are not so blessed, and the words they hear or read pass right by their ears. Tests are becoming increasingly emphasized in the school system, a topic which is controversial. So much of grades are based almost solely on tests. What if a student is a poor test-taker? What if, no matter how much they study, the anxiety of the test gets the best of them? Some say this is the student's problem. Others argue that having so much school results based on tests, those who are poor test-takers are doomed. Because for some students, no amount of studying can take away their test anxiety.

Character Description Practice

My brother Tim wanders into the room, fingers flying across his iPod. I say hello to him, and he raises his eyebrows in response, never looking up. With one long finger, he stabs his screen, wincing as he loses points in whatever game is playing. His eyebrows pull together and his looked intensifies. Stiffening his arms, he forces his slim fingers to work faster, sliding across the screen. With a final swipe, his lifts his finger into the air, poised like a director instructing a band to pause. He taps his feet, his lanky legs twisting as he does a small victory dance as he apparently gains points. Throwing a bony arm into the air, he gives a wide grin to the ceiling. Looking back down, he notices me watching his antics.

"Oh. Hi," he says. I just shake my head and go back to my homework.

Character Description Practice

My brother Peter shuffled up to me, a goofy smile plastered across his face. He ran his fingers through his long, straight hair, pushing it into his eyes.

"I just brushed my hair," he said happily, the grin widening to show his short teeth.

I paused, looking up at him. "Um...great?"

Peter brushes his hair around ten times every day. Also, he hates getting it cut short. Therefore, at the moment, his hair conceals his eyebrows and dangles right into his eyes. He crosses his eyes at me and punches me in the shoulder before bounding away, laughing a fake laugh at the top of his lungs. He snatches up an inflated ball and kicks it around, engaging one of my other brothers in a game of indoor soccer. He smooths down his athletic shirt, bends into a goalie position, and screeches as the ball slips past him into his "goal." Squirming into an odd position of frustration, with his arms twined together, he claims that he was distracted, and that the goal shouldn't count. The two of them begin to bicker, and I decide it's time to move downstairs.

Falling Asleep

This happens to me a lot...when it's not supposed to. I will be sitting in a class, and suddenly my eyes feel very heavy...as if my eyelids are suddenly made of lead. It is a battle to keep them open as I frantically cross uncross my legs or fold and unfold my arms in an attempt to stay awake. Or, I will be sitting at my computer, trying to make it through another round of homework, when I suddenly feel myself drifting away. The clock will seem to be ticking very fast, and time will be slipping away as I slow down, trying to simply keep awake. Once, I lost the fight, and fell asleep on my laptop. When my mom came in and woke me up, I had the imprint of the keyboard on my face. Even now, as my fingers are moving across the keys...I can feel my eyes getting heavy...

Homework

Your pencil scratches across the paper, filling line after line. The lead on your pencil is worn farther and farther down, until the wood of the pencil hits the page. You sharpen it, taking your time as you watch the shreds of wood float into the trash can. Flipping to the next page, you continue, once again filling line after line after line...after line...it goes on and on. It seems as if a whole notebook could be filled. And in some cases, it will be filled. By the end of the trimester, a small tree has been used up for each class. Worksheets are stuffed into folders. Notebooks are covered in writing, lines filled. Spanish words, German phrases, paper review, calculus...it doesn't matter which you fill the page with, it all falls into the category of homework.

Cub Bagging

Bagging groceries is always an interesting job. You shuffle awkwardly up to the next person in line and work up the courage to ask if they would like any help bagging their groceries. When bagging before Thanksgiving, there is usually a turkey somewhere among the piles of food that are being slid through the counter. It always presents somewhat of a challenge. You have to heave it into the air and slide it into a bag without creating too much of a ruckus, because then the person purchasing the food may believe you aren't treating their food with care. When you try to bag the other items, it is often like a puzzle. The boxes and cans go on the bottom, then the items that can stand to be slightly squished, and then the bread or chips, or whatever fragile items may be laying on the counter. You at a pace somewhere less than frantic, hurrying to finish the bagging before the purchaser is done paying. Gently laying the bags in their cart, you flash your biggest smile and say goodbye. And move on to the next customer, and the next, and the next...until your shift is finally over!

Hugo Cabret

The movie Hugo Cabret had educational value, artistic value, and entertainment value. The theme of the movie was thought provoking, as it was about purpose. In one line, the main character Hugo states, "A machine always comes with the exact amount of pieces it needs- nothing more. I think of the world as a big machine. And since there are never any extra pieces, I must be a part of that machine for a reason." That quote shows how the theme of purpose isn't too cheesy, but it is deep. Also, another theme is fixing things- machines and people alike. The artistic value is also amazing. The set of Hugo's home and the views of the camera are all well thought out. The lighting is different to create different moods; once, when Hugo is trying to follow an old man who stole his notebook, they pass through a churchyard, where the statues have dark shadows, giving a feeling of doom. In another scene, where Hugo is with his new friend and they are walking through a train station, the lighting gives a soft glow to everything around them. The entertainment value was very high. The plot was intriguing, while not being too unrealistic. My disbelief was suspended throughout the entire movie, and I felt as though I was a part of the world of Hugo Cabret.

Thanksgiving

It happens every year. Turkeys are purchased, thawed, and cooked. Stuffing is mixed and set out in bowls. Mashed potatoes are whipped by beaters. Cranberry sauce and deviled eggs are prepared. After all of the cooking and preparation, the meal is finally ready. Families gather around the table, joining together to give thanks. For some, it is stressful, due to the amounts of cooking and planning that must be done. For others, it is a chance to eat and relax with friends and family. For still others, it is simply another regular day of the year. To some it is important, while to others it is no big deal. Either way, it is recognized nationally. Going back to the times of the Pilgrims, this holiday is a symbol of being grateful. So people celebrate while they can! Happy Thanksgiving!

Hugo Cabret

Tonight I went to go see the new movie Hugo Cabret. It was quite a good movie! The cinematography was amazing! During one of my favorite scenes, two of the main characters are standing inside a clock tower, looking out over the city. The lights of the buildings and the falling snow created a magical scene. The special effects were very well done also! I have read the book, which includes illustrations, and I noticed that the actors picked to play the main characters looked very similar to the drawings of them in the book. The actor who played Hugo covered the part very well. The actress who played his friend did slightly worse at times, but her performance was still great. The plot was like that of the book, with a few side plots added. These extra plots added to the story and helped with character development. The actors and the characters they played were all realistic and likable. The angles of the camera were amazing and added to the magic of the movie. The make-up and set design were thought out, the design especially. All in all, the movie was amazing, and I would certainly recommend seeing it!

Film Review Practice

I watched the movie "From Prada to Nada" and found it to be an okay movie. It was exceedingly average. I thought the plot was amazing, but there was too much going on at different points. Plus, it was difficult to tell just how much time was passing between scenes. The set designs were done very well, in my opinion. The make-up was alright, but there were definitely moments where it was subpar. In one section, a girl asks her sister "What happened to you?" It is supposed to show that her sister is very distraught and tired, and although the make-up showed hints of some of that, the sister pretty much looked the same as she did during the other scenes in the movie. I originally thought this movie would show the different classes that Mexican Americans have in America, seeing as the main characters begin as wealthy children and end up living in the "ghetto." However, it was about much more, including being proud of family and heritage. The actresses playing the two main characters did very well, especially the one who played the smarter of the two sisters, Nora. She did very well in expressing emotions and tackling lines that were not always written very well.

How to Train Your Dragon Movie Review Practice

This movie is animated, but the animators use subtle changes throughout the movie in order to convey points. For instance, Hiccup, the main character, is portrayed as being much skinnier and smaller than his peers. He has long reddish hair, and when the animators want to give him a look of shock, they show his hair blown backward and his eyes wide. The actor who does the voice of Hiccup typically plays the wimpy, shy, or nerdy character in movies, and generally has a love interest who he considers to be way out of his league. So I consider him to be well-casted in the part of Hiccup, as Hiccup is supposed to be kind of wimpy and he has a crush on a girl considered to be out of his league. The background music is also well chosen. The movie is about a Viking clan, so the music has a Scottish hint. Bagpipes blare when there is a showdown between Hiccup and a dragon, and drums beat when the scene gets intense. Also, the animators played with the lighting and set design to show emotions. In one scene, the Viking chief throws a torch into a cave filled with dragons. As the spinning light catches on the wings of the dragons, the viewer gets a sense of anticipation, wondering what will happen when all of the dragons take flight. In another scene, Hiccup is riding a dragon, and the view is supposed to be magical. The Northern Lights flare in the darkness, and the sunset casts colorful shadows on the clouds on the horizon. The music in the background is dramatic and inspiration, in order to show the feelings of awe that Hiccup is experiencing.

Being Sore

I started ski training this week. I guess I had forgotten how terrible I am at running. Therefore, the first day we went on a run, I was struggling. My legs just wouldn't seem to work with me as they remained at a steady, slow pace. The impact of my feet hitting the pavement sent a jarring impact up my legs with each stride. The crisp air seemed to coat my lungs with a fine layer of ice. My breath fogged the air as I ran, creating a cloud that disappeared just as fast as my energy when it came to running. As I finally plodded back to the school, my feet dragging even as I tried to force them to run faster, I breathed out a gasp of relief. My troubles were over! I soon realized I was wrong. The next morning, as I tried to get out of bed, I knew I was in trouble. My legs were as stiff as metal rods. When I tried to bend them, pain signals blared throughout my body. Wincing, I clambered out of beg and made an attempt to walk. The most I could manage was an awkward shuffle, sliding my feet on the floor so I wouldn't have to lift them. That practice, we ran again. My personal run was more of a lopsided jog. At least the cold numbed my legs, so that the burning of lactic acid was less noticeable. Still, the next morning I was confronted with an even more intense stiffness. Which still lurks in my legs. Hopefully it will be gone by next week, so my running actually resembles...well, running.

Bronchitis

Apparently, I have bronchitis. It has settled deep in my lungs. Now that I know it is there, I can almost feel it. I try to take in a deep breath, but my lungs constrict before I can. A cough forces its way out my throat, sending a burning through my lungs. I slap a hand to my collarbone as if that will somehow heal me. Swallowing the burning, I wince. Swim practice has been especially difficult. The chlorine floods down my throat, adding to the burning. I gasp in air after a swim set, my rasping breaths capturing the attention of the people around me. I awkwardly glance down at the water and try to get my breathing under control. My face gets hot, from embarrassment, fever, or lack of oxygen I have no idea. I can tell that my skin is turning a brilliant shade of red.

"You doing okay?" my friend asks.

"Yep, I'm fine," I try to say, but my words come out in a harsh whisper. I try again, flashing a smile that I hope is convincing. She nods uncertainly. Gulping in another breath of air, I force the smile to stay plastered on my face, reminding myself that I will be just fine later.

Ethnography Culture

The culture of El Burrito Mercado is definitely Mexican. Pinatas twirl from the ceiling and Spanish works of art hang from the walls. The designs on the tiles behind the counter have a Hispanic look to them. As I looked closer, I notice that the design is a cross. Perhaps this is because a predominant religion in Spanish culture is Catholicism. Some of the workers have Catholic crosses dangling from their necks. In the background, a meat saw can be heard from the Deli. I remind myself to go look at it, but as usual, I forget. I'm too caught up in the wild color of the place. Yellows, oranges, and reds are splashed everywhere. In fact, the whole store itself is yellow. And outside, a Linus statue stands proudly. A sombrero is perched on Linus's head, and his blanket and clothing have been decorated. Even the tabletops at El Burrito Mercado are decorated. And the metal of the chairs has been twisted into ornate patterns. An archway marks the entrance to the Cafe, with the silhouettes of the signature El Burrito Mercado donkey pressed into it.

Laughter

Many people say that laughter is special. That it is the best medicine. That it can heal. That it is powerful. I guess I see that. It always feels good to laugh. That is, unless you are laughing so hard you honestly think you are going to die. Laughter is something to be shared with friends and family. Or maybe you share it with someone who isn't necessarily your friend, but through that experience, the two of you become closer friends than you were before. People have different ways of laughing, I've noticed. Some laugh silently, with just their shoulders shaking. Others have shrieking laughs that bounce off the corners of walls. Some people laugh under their breath, and some people laugh uncontrollably. And sometimes, people laugh until they cry. I've always wondered why that is. Why are tears produced? Because you are laughing so hard that your stomach hurts to the point of tears? The tears are worth it, though, because laughter really is a special thing. It can change a day from good to bad, if you let it.

Setting Description Practice

I glance around my living room, searching for my Calculus book. The piano in the corner holds many textbooks, but not mine. Piano sheets and Geography books litter the smooth black piano bench. The white keys shine, slightly dulled by many fingerprints. The card table in the center of the room has the equipment for my brother's science experiment covering almost every inch of the dark surface. A small windmill and voltmeter are displayed, and cardboard boxes and sheets of paper are strewn about. The white and brown string of carpet on the floor stretch toward the ceiling. The Champlin Park Red Hot Rebel Read book is laying in the corner and my brother's homework has been tossed beside it. I sigh and prepare to move down the stairs. No Calculus book here.

Character Description Practice

My little brother smashes into me from behind. I spin around, a retort ready to slip off my tongue. He grins up at me, smiling so hard his eyes are squeezed shut. His braces, which he recently had put on, reflect the nearby lamp. His blond hair is, as usual, sticking up in places, despite the careful effort of my mother get it to lay flat. His sweatshirt is zipped up to his neck, and it definitely does not match his black pants. His socks have holes ripped through the toes, but he still refuses to throw them away. He creates such a ridiculous picture that my retort is instantly lost.

"What?" I ask simply, reaching to continue typing.

"Hi," he shrieks before bounding away. I shake my head and position my fingers back on the keyboard, wondering how long it will be before he does the same thing again. Sure enough, two minutes later, I feel something barrel into me, nearly knocking me off my chair. He blinks innocently up at me, and once again, I lose my retort.

Enthnography Practice

"Nice to meet you," Ana nods at us warily. She watches us through large eyes under her tight bun. She seems shy as she speaks with us, but as she steps back behind the counter, she instantly appears to be comfortable. She laughs with the other workers throughout the night, and seems to get over the awkwardness of having us watch her and her co-workers. In fact, it is Maria and I who feel more awkward by the end of the night; we have spent an hour staring at them. We cringe a bit in our metal seats, but they laugh easily. I trace the shining tiles on the tabletops, trying to avoid making awkward eye contact with anyone. Ana sweeps crumbs off of her red El Burrito Mercado shirt, glancing over at us as if she had forgotten we were there.

Ethnography Practice

I glance at the hundreds of skeleton decorations lining the shelves of El Burrito Mercado, symbols of El Dia de los Muertos. Beside them are tables set up for eating, their tiled surfaces polished and pristine. I slide into one of the elaborate dark metal chairs, trying to take in everything. The aroma of rice, beans, and meat slips through the air along with the smoke from behind the cafe counter. Colorful pinatas hang from the ceiling in neat rows. Hispanic artwork, such as pottery and paintings, lines the walls. Cheerful Spanish music plays in the background, calling everyone to clap their hands. Underneath my fingertips are delicately designed tiles that have been pressed into the table. The tiles catch the glint of the warm lights above, reflecting it back at me. Behind the counter of the cafe, the workers joke with each other in Spanish. Their laughter sounds over the music, causing me to look back up. They have a short break, as there are no customers. Even as they are washing dishes, they are smiling and talking excitedly. Even my four years of Spanish do not allow me to follow their animated conversation. A costumer approaches the counter and the workers automatically switch modes. They are now still smiling, but focused on the costumer. As soon as he takes his food and leaves, the mood changes back to jokes and laughter. A worker in the standard red shirt and black pants calls to another worker as he washes out a tray. Another worker dressed in all black scoops up the floor rug, still snickering as she walks past. It's almost as if they don't notice they are working!

Darkness

Some people are afraid of the dark. They find it creepy, believing that anything could hide in the shadows. They shiver at each loud noise that rings through the blackness, and jump at every slight breeze. They turn on all of the lights and close the blinds so the outside darkness doesn't creep in. Other people aren't afraid of the dark. They don't mind being sent to the basement to retrieve something in the dark. They can walk during the night without being on edge. In fact, they might even enjoy night walks, looking up at the stars. The last group of people is composed of those who are both or indifferent. This is the category I usually fall into. I say usually because after watching a horror movie, I am definitely scared of the dark. I recently watched a scary movie, and I was surprised to find my throat going dry as I had to walk a short distance in the night. I was tense and if someone had startled me, I'm sure I would have screamed. I fumbled with my car keys and suddenly, turning on the lights in my van seemed like the most important mission of my life. I practically threw myself into the car and immediately snapped the lights on. But usually, I don't mind the dark too much.

Asthma Attacks

Asthma attacks are, first of all, pretty freaky. Your throat tightens as if a hand has curled around your windpipe. The frantic breath you try to take in is stopped instantly. It is as if your lungs simply do not have enough room to allow more air inside. You lift a hand to your neck, as if doing so will somehow fix everything. The fingers you press against your trachea change nothing. Your inhales still are forced to an abrupt stop at the back of your throat. You finally get a breath in, but the oxygen flows down to your lungs too suddenly and too thickly, sending you into a spasm of coughing. Choking on the air you had, just seconds ago, begged for, you struggle to regain control of yourself. Hacking and focusing on simply GETTING IN A BREATH, you scrabble for your inhaler and spray it down your throat. Eventually, you can reign in a controlled breath. The attack has left you weary and has scraped your throat raw. Clutching the inhaler, you swear to never take breathing for granted again. Of course, you forget about that vow soon after. That is, until the next asthma attack.

Cast

My brother broke his arm last week. He was riding a scooter and fell. At first, we all assumed that he was fine. But it soon became clear that he was not. He went pale and began to sweat, even though he was shivering. My dad gave him some ice and I wrapped him in a blanket. My mom came home and took him to the hospital. I stayed up late doing homework, and got the news at just past midnight that he had broken his arm. A hairline fracture. He needed a cast, and was not happy about it. This meant he had to miss the tennis championships in gym, and maybe even part of the Nordic Skiing season. The blue cast was much harder than I had expected. It was stiff and uncompromising, refusing to respond to even the hardest amount of pressure. Within a day, it was filled with black signatures. Many of which belonged to sympathetic girls. My brother gave me a smug smile as I read off all their names. I could tell what he was thinking. Maybe the cast wasn't so bad after all...

Drama

The Drama Team from my church performed this morning at Delano Evangelical Free Church. It was an awesome experience! First, my boyfriend and another drama member performed a skit that made us all laugh so hard we cried. Then, two of my other friends acted out a scenario that helped all of the audience see how we can be blind to what is right in front of us. After that, my friend gave her testimony. She was nervous; I could tell. But she nailed it! Our next performance was a human video, which is like a skit without words. This particular human video is incredibly powerful. It takes a lot out of everyone who performs in it, but it is all worth it! At the end, where some of the actors are thrown to the ground, I flew into the stage, landed on my friend's leg, and proceeded to have a small asthma attack. But we weren't supposed to move. So I stayed where I was, frantically picturing my inhaler. It was downstairs in my purse. If I could just slip out and grab it...I didn't move. Well, not on purpose anyways! I was shaking like a leaf! Luckily, I was able to catch my breath before the next skit, which I performed with two other members. The day was amazing! The people there were all welcoming and kind, and they seemed very excited to have us. I couldn't tell them enough that it was US who should be thankful. They had given us the opportunity to perform, and that opportunity had become a great experience!

Interviewing

As my friend and I prepare to begin our interviews for our ethnography, we exchange a nervous glance. Neither one of us is very outgoing, and to make matters more difficult, we aren't even sure if the people we are planning on interviewing speak English. I glance back down at my red jot book and grip my pencil tightly. It's now or never. We both give shaky laughs, spring up from our seats, and resolve to dive into an interview before we chicken out. We approach our first victim, a teenage customer. She smiles and seems very willing to participate in our interview. After a few questions, I feel a bit of tension ease. That wasn't so bad! Our next interview goes by just as smoothly, and I begin feel slightly embarrassed for having ever been nervous in the first place. Finally, we have completed our last interview. Each person we approached was kind and politely participated, answering all of our English questions easily. Why was I ever even the slightest bit tense? I had underestimated the willingness of these people to help us. We ease back into our seats. I shake my head at myself, laughing at myself. What had I been expecting?

Halloween

Little ghost, goblins, and ghouls pound up to the door, their costumes illuminated in the single glowing streetlight. Pumpkins line the streets, flickering candles shining through the holes of their eyes. Candy is poured into huge bowls and then scooped into waiting bags. "Trick or Treat!" Some neighbors eye the children outside of their door suspiciously- they could have sworn they had seen these same kids earlier that night... Decorations hang from trees and swivel in the breeze, casting strange shadows. Black cats and flapping bats adorn the windows of many homes. Some children screech as each small sound in the night startles them. Other children just roll their eyes and plunge on to the next house for more candy. Their bags are weighed down with chocolate and pixie stix. But its a burden they are more than willing to carry. Doorbells ring incessantly and expectant faces wait for the handful of candy they know is soon to come. Usually, the cold bites through even the thickest of costumes. After all, we do live in Minnesota. And it isn't too terribly unusual to have a Halloween with snow.

Trend Paper Practice

Jorge slid his drivers license back into his leather wallet, frowning as he did so. This had been the third time this month that he had been pulled over and asked for proof of citizenship. Jorge had been born in Arizona and had lived there all of his life, and was a completely legal American citizen. However, his clearly evident Mexican heritage had caused people to look at him with suspicion for many years. Many Americans are beginning to become increasingly negative towards the Mexican American population. This negative attitude affects not only the Mexican Americans, but also American as a whole. America is-and always has been-a mixture of different cultures and ethnicities blended together. In fact, our country is often called 'The Melting Pot' in reference to these different groups. Yet some people are not exactly always proud of this title. They are disillusioned with the high amounts of immigrants that flood into America each year. What is the cause of this disillusionment? Many different things. Mainly, the media. As the news shows reports of the rising costs of immigration, how immigrants are stealing the jobs of American citizens, and illegal immigrants, many people begin to develop a bias against immigration. They are swayed by the media, and they let it shape their beliefs, causing Mexican Americans and our country to suffer.

Singing

Does anybody else sing to themselves in the car? I was doing that last night as I was driving home from my church small group. I had the radio turned up pretty loud and I was singing probably even louder...maybe even with a tiny bit of dancing. I pulled up to a red light and happened to look at the car next to me. It was two of my friends who had also been coming from small group. They were watching my antics and laughing. I paused, grinning back at them as I felt my face flush and turn bright red. With a quick wave, I speed ahead of them as the light glared green, laughing to myself the whole way home. The music blared on, but I was laughing too hard to manage to enunciate any of the words. I breathlessly clutched the wheel, making sure I didn't close my eyes from the force of my laughter. I could see the car my friends were in behind me, and that only made me laugh harder. Maybe it was an after-effect of being tired, but I found the entire situation hilarious, especially due to the fact that we were all going to my house, so when we both pulled into the driveway, we all were still laughing as we slipped out of our vehicles. Maybe it was just exhaustion, because now that I think about it, it really wasn't that funny...

Perkins

Thursday night was Junior Wake-up Call for swimming. We got permission from parents to wake up the juniors on our team and take them to Perkins for breakfast. I was so tired at the restaurant...I lay down on one of the booths and suddenly, the crackling red leather of the seat seemed exceedingly comfortable. My eyes slipped closed and I fell into the oblivion of sleep, which was quickly interrupted as one of my friends poked me. We all stumbled through the day, wanting only to get home and sleep. I, however, decided to go to a church sleepover. And guess what they did? A wake-up call. They woke us up at five in the morning and took us all out to...Perkins. The exact same one, too. This time, I didn't need a booth. I fell asleep right at the table, resting my head on the wood as it pushed imprints into my forehead. When the food came, I couldn't even eat it all. I guess that's another symptom of being tired- you don't feel hungry. So I got one of those take-home boxes and let my brothers devour what was left of my food. I wish I could say that I also caught up on sleep, but unfortunately, that would be a lie. All of it was fun, though, so I suppose I wouldn't trade the experiences for a couple of hours of sleep.

Lack of Sleep

I never really realized how much a lack of sleep can affect a person. Over the past few days, I haven't been getting anywhere near to 8 hours of sleep a night. In fact, last Thursday night, I slept for a grand total of 45 minutes. It was Junior Wake-up call for swimming, so that pretty much eliminated any chance of sleeping. Now, I'm feeling a little less than stellar. When I drive, I see myself drifting out of my lane, but I'm too zoned out to force my hands into the motion of jerking the wheel back into place. When I write, my words become scrambled and mixed together like the fall leaves scattered in my yard. When I speak, I accidentally combine words or forget words in my sentences, effectively making whatever I am saying undecipherable. When I am trying to do my homework, my eyes drift shut before I can catch myself, and I end up in some sort of partial dream state. I wake up confused and disoriented, imagining that this must be how Alice in Wonderland felt as she returned to her own world. That story always bothered me a bit, because it seemed to me that Alice was slightly insane. I guess when I start seeing rabbits with watches I will be worried.

Driving Downtown

Yesterday I had to go downtown for a school project. My mom forbade me to go alone, as she is always convinced I will be kidnapped or shot the instant I leave the protection of Champlin. However, she was busy and couldn't drive me. My father wasn't home, so he couldn't take me either. Also, there was another problem. I am not the best driver. In fact, earlier that day, I had realized I was driving straight in the "turn only" lane. Plus, half of the time I forget to turn on my headlights. I either panic as I drive or I don't pay enough attention. There is no in between. My hands clutch the wheel so hard my fingers hurt when I panic, and I stare unblinkingly at the flashing white lines on the road. On the other hand, when I don't pay attention, I glance around at interesting nearby buildings and drift out of my lane. Driving downtown didn't exactly seem like such a good plan. Especially not at night in the rain. So, my boyfriend offered to drive for me. Which is definitely a good thing, because around ten minutes into the drive, I already didn't recognize anything. I glanced at his face to see if he was as lost as I was, but he seemed to know exactly where we were going. Sure enough, he got us to where we needed to be without a problem. Then he sat with me for an hour as I did my project. When we finally got to head home, he pulled off a quick U-turn and we were headed for the necessary exit. He glanced at the side of the road and groaned. The exit was closed! I gulped. I had no idea how to get home now...well, not that I had much of an idea before then anyways. Maybe...Aha! There was a GPS in the car! I pulled it out like it was a lifeline, staring at the lighted screen as it reassured me that we would find the way home. The reassurance faded instantly as I realized there was something wrong with the stupid thing. Once again, technology had failed me. We pulled over to the side of the road. He's much more logical than I am in such situations, and easily found a detour to the road we needed. After that, we arrived at his house without any further issues. I sank further into my seat in relief. He had just saved me from countless minutes of driving around lost...well, actually, probably hours. I didn't know what to say, and my thoughts zeroed in on how relieved and grateful I was that he had offered to come with me. So sweet! Thanks Tanner! I guess that's the only way I know to say how grateful I was!

El Burrito Mercado

For our CIS ethnography, my friend Maria and I our observing a shop called El Burrito Mercado. When we first entered the store, we were a bit concerned. Motorcycles lined the street outside, their black seat covers gleaming in what little light shined from the store. The bikers themselves sat silently outside of the store, their long legs sprawled in front of them and their dark hair slicked back with bandannas. They watched as Maria and I tiptoed past into the store. The workers didn't seem to realize who we were, not even when we introduced ourselves. Pinatas lined the ceiling and hundreds of types of food lined the shelves. We sat in hard metal chairs and awkwardly directed our attention towards the cafe. After an hour of staring down the workers, we finally rose to leave. Steam rose from the various foods behind the counter as the workers emptied the leftovers into bags. Blinking as the lights dimmed, we wondered for a moment whether or not we should say goodbye. Exchanging a glance, we bolted instead. We rushed for the door, pushing out into the dark street and the safety of Maria's truck. Her dad was waiting patiently for us as we scrambled inside and immediately burst into nervous laughter. "How did it go?" he asked. We looked at each other and just kept laughing.

Technology

At last! I am once again able to blog. My computer has been experiencing some issues...as usual. As a matter of fact, last night my computer froze as I was trying to email something to myself. The mouse paused like a dog suddenly jerked back by a forgotten chain and my stomach sank. Then the screen slowly began to fade. Unevenly! My computer is so messed up that the halves don't even freeze at the same rate! I groaned over the whirring hum of the laptop. It sounded louder than a speeding semi truck, which probably wasn't a good thing. Stabbing the mouse pad, I tried, and failed, to stun the computer into waking up again. The screen went black. Giving up, I slammed the screen shut with a bang that echoed around my small room, bouncing back and forth between my bookshelf and dresser. Muttering about how technology always has dangers of failing, I begged my mom to let me use her laptop. I'm not sure which did it, the clasping of the hands or the look of desperation, but she set her laptop on my desk. I stared at the sleek black cover, so different from the boxy gray look of my own laptop. Gently opening it under my mother's watchful eyes, I sent the email and obediently returned the laptop. Maybe someday I will get one of those...

Work

I worked tonight after swim practice. I taught swimming lessons to small children, which is an enjoyable job, but after a long day, it was rather stressful. We had less swimming instructors present than we needed, and more children than I had expected. I scrambled to collect names and hand out kick boards. The heavy scent of chlorine hung around me and applied itself to my hair, much to my annoyance. My swimmers clung to their kick boards as if they were lifelines and kicked away from the wall. Splashes of water doused me and stung my eyes until I could hardly see.
"That's good, that's good," I exclaimed to all of them, struggling to keep the "smile-and-keep-going" motto of my work. They twisted in the water as I tried to teach them the front crawl, sinking like rocks. A couple mastered the stroke and passed out of the level, but the others spent their time fighting to keep their heads above water. The noise in the pool was deafening as children churned the water around them. I had to shout to be heard, and it wasn't long before my voice was nearly nonexistent. I kept my smile plastered on my face and tried to explain myself using more hand motions than words.
"You guys are doing great," I croaked, giving them each a thumbs-up as they demonstrate their kicking to me. My eyes began to water and the water suddenly seemed to turn cold. At last, I was finished. Stacking the kick boards like a Jenga game, I tried to help with clean-up. What a night. I like my work, but tonight really put the "smile-and-keep-going" rule to the test.

My computer

My computer is sometimes very temperamental. Sometimes, it loads onto the Internet or Microsoft Office Word in a heartbeat, and other times its...many heartbeats. I suppose that is to be expected, though, considering it crashed this spring. I travelled to Europe over Spring Break with the Champlin Park band, and when I returned, the first thing my brother said to me was, "Your computer crashed."
Lovely. All of my many documents that had taken so many hours to write...gone. Thankfully, my mom took it to someone who was able to repair and save all of my lost data. Still, my laptop is running on a short life expectancy. Any day now, it might croak. I hope it doesn't, because I've grown rather attached to it. I even gave it a name. Although, I wouldn't mind actually being able to email or work on my paper without the screen suddenly seizing and refusing to let me type. It would be nice to make it through a whole document without sitting there with waning patience as my poor computer struggles to process the words I have just entered into its keyboard. I will use it until it dies, and then, I guess it will be time to start the whole process over again. And pick a new name for the new laptop.

My Buddy!

My friend managed a weary grin up at me, bent over her shovel. Her normally neat blond hair was waving in the hot air, and her pale skin had been tinted red with sun. She had dirt up to her elbows, and her tiny fingers clung stubbornly to the shovel handle. "I'm so sore," she muttered, not complainingly, but in her usual matter-of-fact tone. I gave a breathless laugh back, "You and me both!" Both of us heaved another shovelful of dirt to the side, our arms screaming in pain. We grimaced, but our synchronization simply gave round to another moment of laughter. She was older than me, but much smaller, and the two of us got along well. Maybe it was because we shared the same name, Abby. She paused again, adjusting the neck of her shirt. The frilly collar was stained with dirt, giving it a strange look. She groaned as mud from her gloves scraped against her sunburn, but once again, her actions did not come from complaining, but with good humor. Her dark eyebrows snapped together in a joking wince and she grinned sheepishly. She threw another pile of soil away, accidentally-on-purpose tossing it down one of leaders' shoes. He leaped away as she glared impishly at him; he had been doing the same thing to us moments before.

Digging in Guatemala

I jammed my shovel into the hard-packed clay and heaved a pile of dirt to the side, straining my already burning muscles. The sun beat down on me from above, piercing through my multiple layers of sunscreen. The smell of baking dirt wafted in the air, bringing with it the taste of dry dust. My tongue felt too thick in my mouth, like it was too big. I rubbed my forearm across my forehead in an attempt to push my hair out of my eyes, leaving a streak of dirt like a brand on my face. The blisters on my hands throbbed as the mud-hardened fingers of my gloves rubbed against them. It seemed to take an extreme amount of effort to close my fingers around the wooden handle of my shovel. Scraping sounds echoed around me as my friends threw more piles of dirt into buckets. They too were covered in dirt and sweat. I took a deep breath, determined to keep going like they were. Another shovelful of dirt slid away from my shovel. The sun was now directly above us, and the palm fronds and bamboo bushes were unfortunately too far away to provide any shade. I blinked more dirt and sunlight out of my eyes and made an attempt to lift the exceeding heavy bucket of dirt at my feet, nearly falling to the side as its weight caught my wobbling legs off guard.

Swim Meet

I had a swim meet tonight, which is why I am writing this past midnight. Swim meets always kind of freak me out. The shock of the cold water as you dive in always stuns me, no matter how much I attempt to convince myself that I am prepared. Also, I have this reoccuring fear that I will miss one of my events because I read the schedule wrong. That is why I check, recheck, recheck, and recheck the schedule throughout the night. I have not missed an event yet. I am pretty sure I know where the fear comes from, though. Before I joined the high school swim team, I was briefly a part of a swim club. I went with the club to a meet in Thunder Bay, Canada. While there, I, thinking I knew the schedule correctly, went sightseeing with my family on a day that I thought I did not swim. Turns out I was wrong. I had been supposed to swim in a relay. I figured that out when we returned and my friend informed me that they had searched and searched for me. Obviously, I never showed up, so someone had to swim for me. How embarrassing! I don't want something like that to happen again. So maybe that is the reason for my constant anxiety.

NHS Ceremony

Tonight was the induction for the newest members to join NHS. I remember my own induction ceremony quite clearly. I was very nervous I would slip or fall on the stage. I sort of shuffled out into the spotlight, blinking at its harsh glare. I carefully shook hands with each one of the people lined up on the stage. The scent of smoke from the five candles resting in the center of the stage swept around me, and tendrils of it could be seen snaking through the glow of the lights. I then grabbed a candle and pledge and we all came up onto the stage to recite the NHS pledge together. Our candles had been made of wax, so as time went on, it began to melt like cheese in an oven. Liquid wax slowly spread down the edges of the candle in a waterfall, dripping mercilessly onto my fingers. I gulped back my exclamation of pain, refraining from the urge to snuff out the candle instantly. Not wanting to embarrass myself on stage, I merely continued to hold the candle gingerly and finish the pledge. After we were finished, and the candles had been put away, I carefully scraped some of the remaining wax from my fingers, wishing that the candles had been electric. This year, they were! I'm glad none of the new members got burning wax all over their hands- that is always a plus.

Night Driving

Driving around at night always freaks me out a bit. My hands get a tad tighter on the wheel, and my knuckles turn more white. I double check to make sure the headlights are on, gazing into the reassuring glow in front of the car. As I drive, I constantly throw sideways glances at the grass and trees on other side of the road, worried that an unsuspecting deer will dive into the path of my car. I also am concerned about stop signs. Even with their shining edges, I still am afraid I will zip past one without even noticing. All of these things are just minor worries, though. The main reason I dislike driving at night would be the fact that I get lost...a lot. Getting lost a night is twice as worse as getting lost in the daytime. Signs are harder to read. Settings that may have been familiar earlier suddenly look different as they are shrouded by the night. My worst driving moment was getting lost by Minneapolis and having to pull into the dark parking lot of some warehouse to get my bearings. Of course, it was hard to get my bearings when I was spooked by the lack of street lamps or any sort of light near the warehouse. I got home eventually and never told anyone about my moment of panic. I guess I was too embarrassed. Now, though, I realize that getting lost will probably just be a fact of life for me, so I had better get used to it.

This trimester, I am taking an independent study art class. Today, I finished my first pastel drawing. After scrubbing and scrubbing the chalk pastel off my fingers, leaving them spotted and tingling, I pulled my artwork to the ventilation room to put a finishing spray on. The room is covered in clay, as I soon discovered after backing into a machine. Clay dust clung to my jeans like mud. Frowning, I wiped it off, sending a bitter tasting cloud of dust into my face. I taped up my drawing and paused. How did the vent turn on? Everyone was supposed to turn it on while spraying their artwork, in order to avoid inhaling the fumes. The switch was on, but the familiar teeth-grinding roar of the vent was not. The ring of the bell sang through the open doorway. I had to go. Figuring a quick spray probably wouldn't do me too much harm, I grabbed a can of finisher and positioned it to spray. When I pressed the button, steam-like substance shot out at the picture...and me. Apparently, the bottle was broken. A weird, sticky liquid dripped onto my fingers and solidified there, giving my hands an odd sheen. I shoved the bottle away on onto the shelf, hoping at least some of the chemicals had reached my drawing. I hurried outside and took in a quick gulp of air. Hopefully those chemicals had not been too dangerous, because I definitely got a whiff of them. Well, I'm not dead, so I guess they weren't.

Stress Attack

Today I experienced one of those overwhelming bouts of stress. Stress is almost as bad as a wild animal. It smothers you and snatches away whatever trace of a breath you have in your lungs. Your throat becomes dry as cotton and your mouth tastes oddly metallic as you try, and fail, to swallow. Your fingers clench your pile of books until the knuckles stand out starkly in your skin. Your eyes open wide, probably making you look comical, but at the moment, you really do not care. Your fight or flight response kicks in. Do you make a run for the door? Or put up the most desperate argument of your life? Neither, apparently. Your body has entered a mode of complete shut-down. Frozen as solid as an icicle, you sit rigidly in your seat. Your mind can hardly function, as it seems to have gone beyond its capacity. Is your heart even still beating? Are you still inhaling and exhaling? You have to remind your body to begin the breathing process once again, but in your state of panic, you overcompensate, making yourself hyperventilate. You hear breathless gulps that match your own all around you. Your classmates gaze in horror at the teacher, who remains oblivious. Yes, you just were told you have a test tomorrow, and you are completely, utterly unprepared. It is going to be long night.

Getting Lost

Tonight I was sent to pick up my little brother from his friend's house in Dayton. It was pitch black outside, with the only light being from the towering street lamps and my dusty headlights. I followed the set of directions my mother gave me, and pulled into the street looking for the house number. I looked...and looked...and finally pulled over. Two kids that had come out of their house just to watch me desperately search scurried back into their house as I came out of the car, shutting the garage door behind them with a resounding bang. I walked up and down the street, searching frantically for the number. I needed to get home and finish my homework! But it was nowhere to be found. To make matters worse, I thought I didn't have my phone. I slipped back into the car and put my head on the wheel. What was I supposed to do? Suddenly, inspiration struck! I had been texting my friend before heading out, and I had slipped the phone into my sweatshirt pocket. Aha! There it was. Relief flooded through my veins, and I quickly dialed home and asked for better directions. Turns out I was given the wrong street in one of the directions. Finally, I pulled up to the right house about half an hour late. I guess it is going to be a late night tonight, considering how much homework I still have.

Drama Team

I got to go to church tonight to attend Drama Team. It is a group of teens who perform dramas for my church and elsewhere. The people there are hilarious, and are always fun to hang out with. So of course tonight was enjoyable...even though trying to do breathing exercises with bronchitis was not a good idea. I ending up embarrassing myself by hacking out coughs in the dead silence as everyone else held their breath. Anyways, we rehearsed a skit, and that also went well. Except for when we were backstage, and someone accidentally knocked over a set of curtain poles. Guess who the poles landed on? That's right. Me. They whacked into my shoulder like a set of teeth, making me stumble back into the carpet-ball table, which made the carpet-balls roll clunk against the wooden sides like heavy rocks. Again, embarrassing. At least we got some productive work done on the skit. We all almost have our lines memorized! I am excited to perform. From what I have seen from the work we have done, our group will do well!

The Doctor

I have never really discovered why, but for some reason, I hate the doctors office and hospitals. I dislike the doctor less though, because check-ups are mandatory for sports physicals. I went to the doctor today, and it was a stressful experience. First of all, I had to leave straight from swim practice, so my hair was dripping down my back like waves of ice. Then, I got lost on the way. If you know me, this is natural, but that does not mean it isn't frustrating. I found my way there eventually and checked in with minutes to spare. So I started reading a magazine. And kept reading it over and over...what was taking so long? My appointment had been 15 minutes ago! I usually wouldn't mind, but tonight, I had lots of homework! Finally, I was led to a room, told to explain my symptoms, and left to wait for the actual doctor to come. I leaned my head back against the smooth wall, ignored the smells of sanitizer and plastic coating the room, and almost fell asleep. The room was the perfect temperature, my hair was no longer shocking me with its cold, and the chair was pretty comfortable...The door came open with a resounding click, giving me just enough time to lift my head and pretend that I hadn't actually been drifting off. The doctor talked to me, listened to my lungs, and informed me I had bronchitis. Great. Well, at least I was able to find my way back home.

Minnesota State Fair

I have mixed feelings about the Minnesota State Fair. My family goes every year and I still have not been able to decide whether or not I like it. I like the milk shakes, the all-you-can-drink chocolate milk, the Sweet Martha's Cookies, and the french fries. I also like seeing the art projects there, as well as watching the dog and horse shows. However, I do not like walking through the huge throngs of people and waiting in line. It also is nerve wracking to realize one of your little brothers is missing, which usually happens. I have three of them, and during the course of the fair, one of them is bound to get lost. This year it was the youngest. He stopped to look at a robot in the Education building, and did not see us leave. Luckily, I was able to spot him in the crowd and track him down. This year, my feelings were even more mixed than usual about the State Fair. I was disappointed because there was no chocolate milk! That is my favorite part of the fair (plus, it is probably the only dairy I get all year, because I usually hate milk). So that was a low-light. The highlight was the giant pickle on a stick I ate. Delicious! So, once more, I am unable to decide whether or not I love the Minnesota State Fair.

9/11

Tomorrow marks the anniversary of one of the days in America's history that will never be forgotten. I was in grade school when it happened. I remember watching the Twin Towers smoke their lives out into the sky. Then, I remember watching them fold in on themselves, collapsing like paper. Steel girders were twisted and broken glass littered the ground as I watched the smoke fade on television. I was too young to fully comprehend the damage, but a trip to Ground Zero some years later helped enhance my understanding a bit more. The place where the Twin Towers had once stood was now almost a crater in the ground. Flowers lined the fence around the perimeter, along with notes to loved ones who just hadn't been able to make it out. There were plaques and pictures of the day, and I winced to see some of the photographs of those injured. How terrifying it must have been, to be caught inside a building that was falling apart. However, the scene wasn't completely one of despair. Some of the plaques told stories of heroes. The firefighters who had worked to save as many lives as possible. The medical teams that had worked non-stop to mend people. The search teams that worked for days after, scouring the wreckage for any sign of survivors. Also, the everyday citizens who helped drag others out of harms way. So when I think of 9/11, I don't just think of how much of a tragedy it was, I also think of all of those who risked their lives to help others. It's a bit of a bittersweet taste. But bittersweet is better than just bitter, right?

Elevator Conversation

Oh, hey! How are you? What? You're the admissions counselor for Bethel? I just applied there! Why should you pick me to join your college? Well, there is a few reasons. First, I am very hard-working. I have set goals and am determined to reach them. This has helped my academic record stay in good shape. I also am creative. My father once told me he had to write a five page essay on a quarter, and it gave him extreme difficulties. I remember thinking that there were so many possibilities in terms of what to write about the quarter. You could talk about its history, its metal, the president that is permanently imprinted proudly on the front, the sayings inscribed in the coin, or the eagle arching its wings on the back. On the other hand, you could also fashion it into a memoir or a story. Maybe the quarter was the last thing your grandmother gave to you, or maybe it plays an important part in a counterfeit scheme. My father always said that the fact I was able to come up with so many ideas was that I am creative. I also have been told many times that I have the ability to lead, and I try to live up to that compliment. Another compliment that my friends and family have given me has been that I am loyal, and will stick with something or someone until the end. That includes a college, a course, or a set of standards set before me. Lastly, I consider myself to be artistic, by means of art, music, drama, and writing. These skills can come in handy in many places. They also add to my ability to understand and interpret different works of art, which is another important skill. I believe all of these traits would be beneficial to a college, and I am eager to use them in my future college years. Bethel is a place that I think would be a good college to practice and use those characteristics, and I am ready to do so.

In class we learned about the different steps to writing, and I found that I had overlooked some steps...or, not really known they had existed. The "Discovering Form" section was one that I have never heard of, but I have known subconsciously. I also was previously unaware that "Revising" and "Editing" are different. I have always done both, I believe, but I had simply grouped both in the "Editing" department. I also learned that writing is something that always stems from a thought, no matter how much poets or novelists might claim that their writings were random. Even if you do not consciously realize that the words you are writing are from a certain source, they are. That was an interesting concept of writing that I had never looked at before. All of this new info will come in handy when writing essays!

Today was my first day in CIS English! Our first assignment was to write about our writing process. I am not entirely sure what mine is like. However, I do know that I generally follow a three or more step process. First, I write words straight from my mind, thinking about them, but not looking at them critically. Then, when that first draft is done, I reread what I have written. As I do so, I make changes that I see are necessary, including grammar and adding more where is needed. After I have finished, I reread my work again. This time, I am looking to make sure it flows. I also look to see that I have added just the right amount of description. Not enough descriptive words can make writing boring and bland. On the other hand, too much description can make writing hard to understand. When I have finished my third editing, I am done. However, I sometimes may look over and change my work more than three times, depending on how important, how long, and how difficult the paper is.